


10 Tips for the Aspiring Journalist

by courtneythenerd



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe-Investigative Journalism, M/M, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-17 18:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1398583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courtneythenerd/pseuds/courtneythenerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles Stilinski is the journalist who thinks he's better than "fluff" pieces.</p><p>Vernon Boyd is the incredibly interesting, Greek God of an artist that Stiles has to do a story on.</p><p>Things get interesting pretty quickly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Do The Story

 

 

 

  1. Do the story. Even if you don't like the subject, pretend to like it and do the story. Unless you have a super legit reason, don't whine to your editor about how much you don't wanna do the story. Do. The. Story.




 

 

Stiles  Stilinski  is a serious journalist, okay? He does  _real work _ . He does breaking, hard news. Stiles does natural disasters, political scandals, crime! He does the shit that other, lesser journalists would refuse.

Stiles does _not_ do fluff pieces. He just doesn't.

At least, that's what Stiles is thinking as he sits blatantly pouting at Lydia's desk.

"Oh, get that look off of your face, Stiles," his editor Lydia says in exasperation. She rolls her eyes and slaps the papers she was holding on her desk. "You act like I just asked you to go shoot videos about cats or something."

"That's what this feels like," Stiles grumbles childishly, crossing his arms. "You know I hate stories like this, Lydia."

Lydia sighs and looks at Stiles very hard. To her credit, Lydia's patience and acceptance of  Stiles's  behavior has grown exponentially in the past two years.  She almost seems to like him most of the time.

"I can't stand you sometimes," Lydia says flatly.

Most  of the time.

Lydia continues, "You don't even know anything about this story. Or the subject, for that matter."

Stiles sighs and drops his arms. "I know Vernon Boyd is an artist or whatever. I know this 'story' is just a cover about a day in  his life. "

"But you don't know anything about  _him _ ," Lydia says pointedly. "And you don't know how well our audience responds to him and his work."

"Oh come on! Those are just random people who like pictures," Stiles says, rolling his eyes. "What do they know?"

Lydia looks at him for a moment and sets her jaw. "And a lot of those 'random people' also happen to like your well-written but ultimately condescending and somewhat  _ pretentious  _ stories, Stiles!"

Stiles's jaw drops and his shoulders slump. He's never been so insulted in his life (well he  _has_ _,_ but that's not the point.)

"Look," Lydia tells him, sitting down at her desk, "you're not going to start the full cover just yet. Right now, I'm assigning you to an interview with him at his gallery showing next Saturday night. I just need a quick interview and  you're going to need to warm up to him, like he's going to have to do with you."

Stiles huffs and slides down in his seat. He's pouting again, but he really doesn't care right now because Lydia's being mean. Stiles just can't put his back into a story like this. Why do people care about this type of stuff? Why should he care about this Vernon Boyd guy?

"Stiles," Lydia says in a hard voice, actually startling Stiles. "You're going to do this interview _ and  _ story and it's going to be done in the top-notch quality that you so frequently pride yourself on. Understand?"

"Yeah," Stiles says with a sigh, sitting up and moving to the edge of his chair. "Yeah, I'll do it. Fine."

"And they'll both be spectacular, correct?" Lydia asks, glaring at Stiles.

"Absolutely."

Lydia smiles and pats Stiles forcefully on the back. "Very good, Stiles."

Stiles stands up and walks the door, Lydia following close behind.

"Oh, and by the way," Lydia says sweetly, "if this doesn't make me happy, I'll have your ass."

Lydia smiles and then closes the door in Stiles's worried face.


	2. Know Your Stuff

 

 

 

     2 . Do some background research please. Because arriving to an event without any knowledge of what's going on and it matters make you unintelligent. And the last thing anyone wants is an unintelligent journalist.

Stiles readjusts the camera hanging from his neck as he stands in the ridiculously long line that's been formed in front of the gallery doors. The doors open in a few minutes and it seems like everyone in Beacon Hills is here. Quite frankly, Stiles is confused; since when did everyone in town get so excited for art? Stiles has seen a few of Vernon Boyd's work and while Stiles has to admit that they were  really  good, he still didn't see the big deal. It's not like Boyd is the next Picasso or anything. And he definitely isn't the only artist in town.

"So what's the big deal?" Stiles grumbles, not realizing that he's speaking aloud. 

The woman in front of him shoots him a look, purses her lips, and turns back around, not answering  Stiles's  question. Stiles pulls a face at the woman's back. What was her problem?

Before Stiles has anymore time to contemplate this, the gallery doors open and everyone walks inside. Stiles glances at the familiar white walls and white marble floors with disinterest as he follows the line of people into a section marked, " 'Them:' A Series by Boyd." Stiles rolls his eyes at the sign and doesn't really pay too much attention to anything until he's confronted with a sudden change in surroundings.

In complete contrast to the rest of the gallery, this room is bathed in deep colors: dark reds and greens and browns. Stiles feels as though he's walked into a completely different building. He scans the room, watching the awed patrons as they wander from piece to piece. For some reason, Stiles is starting feel little out of his depth. He doesn't know what exactly it is, but something about this room and paintings on the room feel a little intimidating.

And then Stiles sees the artist himself. His head starts to reel and his stomach promptly falls into his ass.

Vernon Boyd is  _ at least _ 6'3, with impossibly perfect black skin and muscles that look like he could successfully put an elephant in a headlock. His eyes are a deep brown and Stiles swears that they look like they can see directly into a person's soul. And his smile makes Stiles feel as though Boyd is either a. mocking the mere mortals in his presence or b. gently soothing their raging souls like a benevolent Greek god.

It's overwhelming to say the least.

Stiles has seen pictures of him, of course he has. But he just wasn't expecting  _ all of that _  and he definitely didn't feel prepared to sit across from  all of that  and give an interview.

"Impressed?" a female voice behind him asks. Stiles startles (embarrassingly) and turns around to find the source. It's a young, medium height woman with tan skin, dark brown hair, and huge brown eyes that are looking at Stiles mockingly. 

"Um, yeah, yeah, his work is really nice," Stiles stammers quickly, trying to regain his composure.

The woman snorts and raises an eyebrow. "That's interesting for you to say, considering the fact that you weren't looking at Boyd's _ work. _ "

Stiles  blushes and glares at the woman. He feels flustered and annoyed, and he really wants to leave. He hasn't even spoken to the artist yet and this is already starting to suck majorly.

"Um, excuse me, but who are you?" Stiles asks, hoping that the woman will lose interest and leave.

Instead she smirks and sticks her hand out to Stiles. "I'm Cora," she says. 

Stiles reluctantly shakes the woman's hand. "What are you, some sort of cultured groupie?"

Cora doesn't even look offended. She smiles wryly and rolls her eyes. "I’m one of Boyd's best friends, actually. I've supervised his eating and sleeping habits more times than I can count. He sometimes forget to do those things when he gets into a piece."

Stiles looks around the room again, this time in interest. They were all portraits, Stiles realized, but only of parts of people? A back, a strand of hair, a pair of eyes, a hand. Never the full bodies; only body parts. All the paintings were seemingly realistic, but also a little abstract, too? It kind of reminded Stiles of a more accessible Picasso. Stiles had originally thought that they were simple, but now that he's actually  looking  at them, they all seem pretty complicated.

"Let me guess," Cora says suddenly, interrupting  Stiles's  examinations, "you're a reporter who's come to talk to Boyd, but you didn't bother to look up anything about him."

Stiles whips his head around and glares at Cora maliciously. Cora just smirks again and crosses her arms.

"The look you're giving me is telling me that I’m right," Cora says snidely.

"Why are you calling him ‘Boyd?’’ Stiles asks, trying to change the subject. “Isn’t that his  last  name?”

“He prefers Boyd,” Cora says smugly. “Calling him ‘Vernon’ will earn you one of his looks. That’s something you could’ve Googled to figure out.”

Stiles huffs and needlessly adjusts his camera. "Oh, what's the big deal anyway?" Stiles finally snarls defensively. " _He's_ _ just an artist _ . What does it matter?"

For the first time in their conversation, Cora looks offended. But the look quickly changes to a one of skepticism.

"You've _ gotta _be kidding me," Cora says. "Are you serious right now?"

Stiles looks at her grumbly and shrugs. Cora gapes at him, her eyes bucking, and leans forward. It's the most expression Stiles has seen on her face thus far.

"You do realize that Boyd is  the  first Black  _and_   first openly bisexual artist to be honored at the Beacon Hills gallery, right?"

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

The sudden feeling of doom rushes over Stiles and he  knows  that his face shows it. He wants to be mad at Lydia for assigning him this. He wants to be mad at Cora for telling him this. There's even a part of him that wants to be mad at  Boyd  for being such a big ass deal.

But ultimately, the person he mentally kicks in the face is himself. Repeatedly.

"Oh my  _ God _ _,_ " Stiles groans, looking at the ceiling with a pained expression, "I am such an idiot."

"Yep, seems that way," Cora helpfully supplies. 

Cora walks away before Stiles has a chance to retaliate, wiggling her fingers at him as she goes. Now, he's left alone  with the feeling of disaster hanging in the air.

Luckily for Stiles, part of his assignment today is too get a bunch of fantastic pictures, so he distracts himself from the thought of interviewing Boyd by wandering around and snapping pictures of everything and everyone. After each picture, he asks the patron their name and all that. It’s calming, and much easier to deal with. Stiles even manages to get some incredible pictures of Boyd. But of course Stiles realizes that he can’t leave here without at least a short interview with Boyd (unless he  wants  Lydia to mercilessly murder him), and eventually has to make his way back to the stage.

Stiles hates this feeling so much. Stiles is never nervous about  anything , much less an interview. But then again, he usually does his research.  Stiles knows that going into an interview bare can lead to embarrassment and disaster.

 

So this should be fun, huh?

 


	3. Talk to Me

 

     3 . Interviews are important. Interviewees are important. Try to stay as engaged as humanly fucking possible. Don’t get distracted or otherwise unengaged; you’re interviewee  _ will  _ notice.

“You seem a little nervous,” is the first thing out of Vernon Boyd’s ungodly mouth. “You ready?”

Stiles would’ve been offended if his mind was fully functioning. Sitting  this close  to Boyd has made his mind a little fried. 

“I should be asking  _you_   that,” Stiles says as pleasantly as possible, adjusting his notebook and trying to even out his heart rate.

Boyd laughs and oh God  Stiles’s  stomach does a tap dance. But he’s got a poker face and he’s hoping that it is firmly in place as Boyd leans back into his chair and stares at something to the left of him. For a moment, Boyd just sits there quietly and stares at an invisible thing to the left of him, as if it were much more interesting than anything Stiles could ever say. Stiles usually has foolproof methods of getting interviewees to talk, but of course Stiles is having trouble remembering all of those methods, so the silence remains. 

 

It's very quickly getting under Stiles's skin. After all, Stiles has never been one to revel in complete stillness or silence. Stiles was always moving, always talking, even if it were just to himself. There was always something going within Stiles.  Boyd isn't like that though, or at least he doesn't seem to be. Boyd seems . . . peaceful, Stiles guesses. Stiles assumes that Boyd would be the perfect chess player.  Quiet, contemplative, and collected.

 

But then Boyd suddenly moves and smiles at Stiles mischievously. The peacefulness disappeared just as quickly as it'd come as Boyd looks Stiles directly in his eyes. 

 

"Okay, I've got an idea," Boyd says. "How about I just say things about myself until you tell me to stop? If I get to something you want to know more about, you stop me. If I get to something that's absolutely useless, you can tell me that, too. Just as long as something gets out there. Okay?"

 

"Um, yeah, yeah," Stiles stammers, feeling flustered. "Well, actually, this is just a . . . um, a  _preliminary_ interview," Stiles add, finally finding his brain and tongue again. "This one is just about this. Your exhibit tonight, I mean. Um, I'm supposed to write a much longer article about you later. I mean, if you would want that." _  
_

 

Boyd bites his lip (which is much more distracting than it should be, holy shit) and nods thoughtfully while tapping out a beat on his knees. He smiles again, closed mouth, and looks up.

 

"Well okay. My idea works for this too," Boyd says. Then he settles back into his chair and, while maintaining complete eye contact with Stiles, starts to speak.

 

"My full name is Vernon Milton Boyd IV. But during elementary and middle school, I got called 'Vermin' instead of 'Vernon' by some of the more racist of my white counterparts' parents. I've been going by Boyd since then."

 

Stiles, who had been writing as Boyd spoke, freezes and looks up at Boyd incredulously. "Seriously?"

 

Boyd smiled wryly. "You aren't one of those people who thinks racism is over, are you?"

 

"Um, no, of course not.I hear too much news that proves otherwise. I just wasn't expecting you to say that, is all," Stiles says quietly.

 

Boyd shrugs and sighs. "It was a fucked up experience, definitely. As hard as it was on me, I think my parents felt worse. They didn't like the idea of sending their kids into the same mess they'd dealt with when  _they_ were kids."

 

"Wait, did you say  _kids_? You have a sibling?" Stiles asks and he's starting to feel like more himself. He's also starting to feel like Lydia was right, but about what, he isn't sure.

 

"A younger sister," Boyd answers, smiling at Stiles in kind of a strange way. "She got a lot of racist bullshit, too. It got better in high school, though. But then it got pretty terrible again in art school."

 

Stiles is writing madly and he can physically feel the interview go up from here. "Did you go to art school in Beacon Hills?"

 

"Yep, lived here my entire life."

 

"And people were very racist towards you?"

 

"Are you surprised?' Boyd asks, but not in a sarcastic way. He asks as if he is genuinely interested in Stiles's reaction.

 

Stiles lowers his notepad and thinks about it for a moment. He tries to think about the racial make up of his old neighborhood and schools. Then he pulls a face and shakes his head.

 

"No, actually. I'm not surprised at all. I guess that's why things like this are important."

 

Boyd chuckles and shrugs again, and he never stops watching Stiles. "I guess so, huh?"

 

From there, things stay interesting. Boyd talks and Stiles madly writes, interjecting when needed and feeling his mojo come back. Apparently, the gallery curator didn't realize just how subversive honoring Boyd would be.

 

"You'd think he'd realize that they don't feature anybody else like me here, but I'm glad I could open a door for him," Boyd says with a hint more of sarcasm than Stiles is expecting. Somehow, Boyd keeps managing to surprise him.

 

The amount of time Boyd spent of each painting varied widely, according to Boyd. And yes, his best friend Cora  _did_ have to remind Boyd to eat and sleep sometimes.

 

"I get caught up in it, you know?" Boyd says, getting a far away look in his eyes. "It just . . . sometimes they mean so much to me."

 

By the time the interview is over, Stiles has  _way_ more than he thought he would get.

 

And yes, Stiles is including the raging butterflies he gets when Boyd shakes his hand into the "way more." 

 

 


	4. Personal Relations

 

 

 

    4 . It's very important to build relationships with sources. You don't have to be on that best friends forever type shit, but you should forge some sort of connection. After all, you never know when you'll need someone. Or when someone will need you.

"Hey, great story, Stiles!" is Scott's greeting to Stiles two days later. See, that's why Scott is  Stiles's  best friend; he understands the importance of daily compliments.

"Why, thank you, best friend of mine," Stiles says smugly. He plops down in the chair next to Scott and spins around in it. "I actually enjoyed it."

"Yeah, I can tell," Scott says with a hint of amusement  in his voice. 

Stiles glances over at Scott suspiciously for a second, but then shrugs it off. He looks at Scott's laptop and sees that Scott is working on draft about some brand new medical thing the town's vet has come with.

"Dude, that is the second story in three weeks you've done about Deaton? What sorcery is working over you and your writing skills?" Stiles asks, taking a sip of his Coke.

"You know that Alan's coming up with some new medicine, " Scott says defensively. "That's important!"

"So that's what you're writing about this week?" Stiles asks. "Because two weeks ago, you were basically fawning over him anyway."

Scott rolls his eyes good-naturedly and continues typing, never looking up from his laptop. "First of all, you  _ know  _ why I wrote that profile on him. The most prominent Black vet in the region who's also been developing new medicines for animals ? Of course I had to write  something  about him. We're both of color; I couldn't ignore that."

Stiles thinks back to his interview with Boyd and nods thoughtfully, taking a long drink from his Coke.

"And second of all, Alan is _twenty years_ older than us, so 'fawning' over him is messed up in more ways than one," Scott continues, intently staring at his computer screen.

"So we're just  gonna  ignore your little hero crush on Deaton?"

_ " Stiles! " _

"Come on, we're adults! We can talk about this!  He's good-looking for an older guy, " Stiles says. " Gotta  admit that, right, Scottie, eh?" Stiles playfully nudges Scott. Scott laughs and elbows him back.

"Stiles, stop!" Scott says, blushing slightly. Then Scott's expression turns mischievous and spins around to face Stiles. "You'd know all about having crushes on subjects, wouldn't you?"

Stiles chokes on his drink and starts to flail wildly. He glances around for Lydia, and then leans into Scott's personal space.

"How'd you know about that?" Stiles demands through gritted teeth.

Scott laughs and rolls his eyes again. "Stiles, relax. We're adults! We can talk about this, remember?" he says teasingly. "Besides, it was  kinda  obvious to us when we were reading over your article."

Stiles's  face falls in despair. "Who is 'us'?" he asks futilely.

" _Us _ _,_ " Lydia's voice says as she walks into the room. "Scott and I? You know I never edit alone."

Stiles slumps into his chair as Scott laughs and Lydia snorts at him.

"It was a very good article, Stiles. One of your best, actually," Lydia tells him. "We just had to edit out some of the lovey-dovey, gushy parts though."

"There were no lovey-dovey, gushy parts!" Stiles yells and this time Lydia howls with laughter. Scott leans his head against the top of his laptop and shakes with laughter.

"Oh please, it sounded like you were in love with him towards the end of that article!" Lydia tells him.

Stiles gapes and feels betrayed as his best friend continues laughing at his expense. Fortunately, Stiles receives some relief when the three of them overhear a woman ask Allison--their receptionist--if Lydia was in.

"I'm back here!" Lydia calls carelessly, letting her head flop back on her neck.

In walks a blonde-haired, brown-eyed woman, and everything about this woman screams, "SEX BOMB" . Lydia, Scott, and Stiles all immediately sit up straight, as if someone's flipped a switch on their backs.

"Hello," the woman says with a smirk, looking at all three of them. She fixes her gaze on Lydia and sticks her hand. "I'm Erica Reyes. I'm an editor  for 'Beacon Hills Journal' ."

"Oh, I know who you are," Lydia says as she shakes Erica's hand. "You're  _the_   editor for 'Beacon Hills Journal' correct? The one in charge of everything?"

Erica somehow smiles proudly while still giving Lydia sex eyes. "That's right. And you're Lydia Martin,  _the_   editor for 'Beacon Hills Daily.' The one in charge of everything here."

"Yes, I am," Lydia answers carefully, staring directly into Erica's eyes. "How can I help you?"

"I read the article you guys ran about Boyd yesterday," Erica tells Lydia. She then leans around and looks at Stiles directly. "Nice job,  Stilinski ."

"Uh, wait, you, um, know me?" Stiles stammers. Stiles glances over to Scott, who is still helplessly staring at Erica. Stiles suddenly feels intimidated again. 

"Yes I do. Well, I guess I should give you guys full disclosure: I'm actually Boyd's  _other_   best friend. You met Cora at the gallery opening, didn't you,  Stilinski ?"

Stiles nods mutely and silently wonders how Boyd managed to have two women like Cora and Erica as his best friends. Stiles thinks that he'd probably melt in the company of both of them at the same time (though he would never say that aloud.)

"Anyway," Erica continues, fixing her stare on Lydia again, "I was impressed by the writing of that story, plus a lot more.  I'm interested in something of a . . .  _partnership_   between our publications. A sort of trade system. I think we could help each other a lot. What do you think?" Erica asks Lydia.

Lydia nods slowly and starts to walk towards her office. "Let's talk more in here," she says, still carefully watching Erica.

Stiles and Scott watch in silence as the two women make their way to Lydia's office.

"Keep your door open! " Stiles yells impulsively, earning an elbow from Scott, a glare from Lydia, and a loud laugh from Erica.

When the women are out of earshot, Scott spins around to look at Stiles.

"You think we'll end up in a partnership with them?" Scott asks.

"Dunno. But Lydia's definitely gonna  end up in a partnership with  _her. " _


	5. Subject of Interest

5\. Try to see your subjects as more than just “subjects.” Try to see your sources as more than just “sources.” Keep in mind that these are _people_. They live and breathe and feel and shit like that. Getting to know to them as _people_ will take you to the next level. Just don’t become obsessed with them or anything.

 

Boyd calls Stiles at noon the next Monday,  exactly five days after the preliminary interview (not that Stiles was keeping count of how long  it’d been since he’d heard Boyd’s voice or anything like that) and asks when they’re going to start the in-depth one.

 

“Whenever you want to,” Stiles says, his voice at least two octaves higher than it should be. “It all depends on you.”

 

Stiles can hear Boyd smile as he asks, “Can we start this weekend, then? I have an idea that I think could work.”

 

“You _always_ have an idea,” Stiles says before he thinks about it. Boyd laughs and Stiles flushes all the way down to his toes.

 

“Yep, I sure do,” Boyd says happily. “Anyway, I was thinking that you and I could spend the day together on Saturday. Just hanging out and talking. You could record the conversation and you’d have your story.”

 

After Stiles forces himself to focus on what Boyd is actually _saying_ as opposed to just swooning to the sound of Boyd’s voice, Stiles thinks about Boyd’s proposal. Interviews _were_ supposed to be casual conversation, after all. And it definitely worked for the first interview.

 

“Okay, yeah, that’ll work,” Stiles says, getting out a notepad and a pen. “Are you willing to give me the address or do I need to Google it?”

 

Boyd snorts and he probably rolls his eyes too. “Oh, relax. It’s 2367 Lark Road. It’s the last house on the right and is painted gray and black.”

 

“No artsy design? Just gray and black?” Stiles says somewhat teasingly.

 

“Nope, none of that complicated stuff. Just gray and black. See you Saturday?”

 

“Yeah, yeah. See you Saturday,” Stiles says, trying not to smile to himself.

 

He hangs up just as Lydia walks into the room.

 

“You’re interviewing Boyd on this Saturday?” Lydia asks, sitting down next to Stiles and pulling her laptop out of her designer bag.

 

“How’d you know who I was talking to?”

 

“Well, when I first overheard you speaking on the phone, you seemed very cooperative and not self-centered. I figured that it either had to be your father, Scott, or Boyd.”

 

“ _Hey!_ ” Stiles pouts and glares at Lydia.

 

“Then I realized that you were blushing like a school-aged kid who just had their first Valentine. It couldn’t be anyone else _but_ Boyd.”

 

“I don’t love you sometimes, Lydia,” Stiles says prissily.

 

“I don’t need your love, Stiles,” Lydia retorts contentedly, as she starts to make the final edits on a story.

 

Lydia notices the shocked look on Stiles face, smiles slyly, and continues typing.

~~~~

It’s probably really bad that Stiles has to keep reminding himself that he’s going to Boyd’s house to do a story.

 

There’s an annoying part of his brain that keeps trying to suggest that this is anything other than an interview. Anything other than _work_. Shamefully, there’s a (growing) part of his brain that wants to call this a _date_.

 

No date.

 

That would be wrong for a couple of reasons.

 

Stiles realizes that this is work and has been setting himself straight all week. This is not a date. Not a date. This is _work_. This is not a date.

 

Stiles is still telling himself that as he drives to Boyd’s house. By the time he pulls in front of the (really freaking nice) house, he has completely resolved to feel no romantic feelings during this interview. This is _work_. Not a date.

 

Stiles knocks on the door and bounces on the balls of his feet. He checks his camera and recorder and takes a deep breath. Not a date. Work. He’s resolved it. No romantic feelings whatsoever.

 

Then Boyd opens the door and smiles warmly at him.

 

“Hey, Stiles. I missed you.”

 

Resolve has been destroyed.


	6. Are You Listening?

  1.   The most important skill you’ll ever develop is that of listening. Genuine, active, _listening_. Oftentimes, you’ll find that if you were actively listening to whoever is talking, you’re much more likely to remember what they said. So taking notes is fine; recording the conversation is even better. But nothing beats actively listening.



 

“You were born here, right? Born and raised?” Stiles asks, recalling what Boyd told him in that first meeting.

 

Boyd smiles and nods. Then he looks a little alarmed and glances over to Stiles. “Oh, I’m supposed to answer audibly, aren’t I?” he asks.

 

Stiles shakes his head and leans further into his chair. “No, that’s fine. I'm pretty good with remembering gestures, facial expressions . . . that kind of stuff.”

 

Boyd bites his lip and nods. Then he looks at the lake and sighs. For a moment, they sit silently.

 

Of course Boyd had managed to talk Stiles into having the interview on the back porch of his house. And of course there’s a lake out behind Boyd’s house. Quite frankly, Stiles didn’t realize that places this nice and serene existed in Beacon Hills. But then again, he didn’t realize a person like Boyd existed in Beacon Hills, either. Or anywhere else in the world, for that matter.

 

“Both of my parents worked a lot,” Boyd says, breaking the silence and bringing Stiles back to reality. “They still do work a lot, actually. I don’t think they’d have it another way.” Boyd snorts and looks over to Stiles. “What about your parents?”

 

“Um, I have a _parent_ , not parents. My mom died. My dad’s the Sheriff, actually,” Stiles tells him.

 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Boyd laments and Stiles has to physically shake his head to get himself back on track. To not fall into the sound and look of Boyd.

 

(Great, now Stiles is starting to sound like some cheesy romance movie. Fucking artist making him feel all . . . _emotional_.)

 

“This isn’t about me, though,” Stiles says quickly. “This is about you and only you.”

 

“Aw, but I want to learn some things about _you_ ,” Boyd tells him, smiling softly.

 

Stiles shakes his head again, but he knows that he’s grinning like an idiot as well. Boyd gives him a look, sighs, and looks out to the lake again.

 

“That’s not how today works,” Stiles mumbles.

 

“Later, then?” Boyd asks, not looking away from the lake.

 

Before Stiles can think about it: “Yeah, later.”

 

Boyd makes a contented noise and leans his head back against the head of his chair. Another moment of silence descends and usually these are the _worst_. Silence usually makes things so awkward. But this . . . somehow it makes sense. Stiles almost feels like the silent moments let him listen to Boyd _more_. Almost like he’s . . . listening between the lines?

 

It makes no sense. But it does at the same time.

 

Fucking artists.

 

“My mother can draw, too, you know,” Boyd says suddenly. “She’s where I got it from.”

 

“Really?” Stiles asks curiously. “And she never tried to make a career out of it?”

 

Boyd laughs, loud and unexpected. Then he looks down at Stiles’s recorder in concern.

 

“Oh, I may’ve messed up your audio,” Boyd says with a grimace.

 

Actually, it’s the first time Stiles has remembered that the recorder was even there since the interview started. That’s unusual for Stiles, too.

 

“Oh, it’s fine,” Stiles says slowly. “It doesn’t really matter.”

 

“I thought that journalists desperately needed their recorders and notepads and stuff.”

 

“Not if they’re actually listening.”

 

“So you’re actually listening?” Boyd asks slyly.

 

“Yes, I am,” Stiles says honestly. No sarcasm, no teasing. “So,” he adds, “why didn’t your mother try to make a career out of art?”

 

Boyd watches Stiles for a moment, a ghost of a smile on his face. Then he sighs and blinks slowly.

 

“No money in it,” Boyd tells him, his voice a little sad. “Her parents— _my_ grandparents—didn’t think it was a ‘real job.’ Told her she’d end up broke and hungry. So she compromised and became an art teacher when she grew up.”

 

Stiles frowns, feeling unreasonably _bad_ for Boyd’s mother. “But that’s not what she wanted to do. Don’t you think your parents should’ve supported her?”

 

Boyd sighs again and shrugs. “They supported her _passion_ , but they didn't think her passion was enough. They wanted her to survive, is all. But she’s happy now. She likes art, she likes kids. Been teaching for more than a decade.”

 

Stiles nods and chows on his lower lip. He wonders what he would’ve done if his father had told him that what he wanted to do wasn’t a “real job.” He probably would’ve pouted and been permanently pissed about it.

 

“Is your mother very proud of you?” Stiles asks quietly.

 

Boyd closes his eyes and sighs happily. “Very. She tells me that every day.”

 

By the time the sun is setting over the lake, Stiles and Boyd have been taking for more than two hours. Stiles has switched out recorders twice, filled up two notepads, and has laughed, blushed, gaped, and rolled his eyes too many times to count.

 

Stiles has learned about Boyd's father ("A construction worker. It kills his knees and backs."), his sister, Alicia ("She  _kills_ me! She's in college. She likes to write. Reminds me  _too much_ of Cora!"), and even more about various aunts and cousins. Stiles even learns about more things about Cora and Erica, but he apparently can't tell Erica that she scares Boyd sometimes. ("She sometimes makes me feel like she could tear my heart out and eat it.)

 

It's all over before Stiles is ready.

 

As they’re standing up and stretching, Boyd smiles at him again.

 

“Did you get everything you need?” he asks warmly.

 

No. Because apparently what he needs has less to do with story material and more to do with _Boyd_.

 

But he bites his lip and nods.

 

“Yeah, yeah. I think I did.”

 

 


	7. Conflicts of Interest (And Feels)

     7. Do you remember that first tip? Where I said that you probably shouldn’t whine to your editor about not wanting to do a story unless you had _legit_ reason? Well, having a conflict of interest is a legit reason. If you have a strong, preexistent bond with the subject of the story, don’t do the story. It’ll end up sounding bias and looking shady as fuck.  
 

 

It’s been a week since Stiles’s interview with Boyd and Stiles still hasn’t completed his story. Lydia realizes this when she checks his desk to see if Stiles has made any updates to the original draft Stiles threw at her (literally, he _threw it_ and then ran out of the room) five days ago. No updates. None whatsoever. It’s not like Stiles and Lydia had originally wondered if she should be concerned.

 

But then Lydia decided that Stiles would work through whatever Stiles problem he had this week and finish the story soon. She hadn’t thought about it in a couple of days.

 

She apparently should’ve been thinking about it.

 

Lydia is sitting at her desk, enjoying a cup of yogurt, and humming contentedly when Stiles bursts into the room, pale, sweaty, and wide-eyed.

 

“Let me guess,” Lydia says with a sigh, “you ran—literally ran—over to tell me that you can’t finish the spread about Boyd because you’re in love with him, correct?”

 

Stiles nods mutely, but his facial expression stays the same. It’s like his face is frozen in a look of permanent shock and fear.

 

“You also didn’t realize that you were actually _in love_ with Boyd until this very moment. Am I right?”

 

Stiles pales even more (seriously, Lydia didn’t think that was possible) and nods mutely again.

 

“Stiles,” Lydia says in a hard voice, trying to bring him back to life, “come sit down.”

 

Stiles quietly shuffles over Lydia’s desk and plops down into the chair. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t even look at her, but rather stares at something above her head. And his face _still_ doesn’t change.

 

Okay, Lydia’s now gone from mildly annoyed to deeply concerned.

 

Lydia reaches out and grabs Stiles’s arm firmly, trying to make sure he feels her touch.  “Stiles, are you alright? Stiles? Can you hear me?

 

Stiles blinks rapidly, shakes his head, and flares his nostrils. Then he takes a deep breath and sags into the chair.

 

“This _sucks_ ,” Stiles groans as he slides down into his seat. “Lydia, this is the _worst_!”

 

Lydia blinks at Stiles and nods. She wonders if Stiles has ever been in love before this, because he sure isn’t acting like it.

 

“I don’t _wanna_ give up the story!” Stiles continues childishly. “I _like_ this story! I like it very much.”

 

“ . . . But that’s because you’re in love with Boyd,” Lydia says slowly.

 

“ . . . Yeah, it is,” Stiles confirms, sliding even further into the chair. Lydia doesn’t think that Stiles can slide much further down before he hits the ground.

 

“Stiles, sit up!” Lydia commands. Then she has to chew on the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing at the way Stiles scrambles to sit up in the chair.

 

“Stiles, you don’t _have_ to give up the story,” Lydia says consolingly. “Just make the revisions to your rough draft, throw it at me again, and I’ll publish it.”

 

Stiles frowns at her suspiciously. “Wouldn’t that be sketchy-looking? Aren’t you always going on about trying our hardest to avoid conflict of interests?”

 

Lydia frowns and thinks about it for a moment, crossing her legs and pulling a face. Then she shrugs carelessly.

 

“Eh,” she says, “I figure that it’s fine because you two aren’t doing anything yet. Now if you guys were already in bed together and you were offering to write this story, I would’ve shot you down.”

 

Stiles blushes and has an exasperated look on his face that Lydia usually can only associate with Scott.

 

“Lydia!” Stiles says. “Don’t even say that! I don’t want to think about being in bed with Boyd unless I know _for certain_ that he wants to be in bed with me! I don’t want to get my hopes up for nothing.”

 

“Oh, he does. Don’t worry about that,” Erica says as she walks out of one of the work rooms down the hall from Lydia’s office.

 

Erica scares Stiles so badly that he actually _screams_ , which in turn scares Lydia _and_ Erica.

 

“Wha-wha-what are you doing here, _Erica?!_ ” Stiles stutters, looking upon her as if she were a murderous clown.

 

“Calm down,” Erica say soothingly, holding her hands out in front of her. “Lydia and I got up early this morning and decided to work on some of the projects we’re considering. That’s all.”

 

“Oh, well—wait, you guys _got up_ this morning?”

 

“Yeaaaah,” Lydia says happily, staring over at Erica, “we did.”

 

Stiles’s left eye twitches and tilts his head like a confused dog. “You guys are being . . . _coupley_.”

 

Erica rolls her big brown eyes at him and laughs. “Oh please. You’re just mad that you’ve had to wait this long before you can take a shot at Boyd.”

 

Stiles glares at Erica, who shrugs and laughs again. Erica leans down and kisses Lydia deeply, just to agitate Stiles even more. It works: Stiles makes a noise of disgust and throws a snarl their way. Then he makes another groaning noise and lays his head on Lydia’s desk.

 

“You really think he likes me?” he asks, not lifting his head from the desk.

 

Lydia rolls her eyes and looks at her girlfriend. Erica snorts, reaches over, and starts to rub Stiles’s back reassuringly.

 

“Yes, I’m 100% sure. Actually, he probably is in love with you, too.”

 

Stiles’s head flies up at this and he stares at her with shock.

 

“But you can’t _dare_ tell him I said that to you! I don’t even want to know what he’d do if he found out I told you that!” Erica tells him warningly.

 

Stiles nods vehemently and Lydia wonders if he ever gets a headache from nodding that hard. She blinks that thought away and focuses on what is now the second most important thing.

 

“Stiles, I need you to finish that story up in the next couple of days, okay?” Lydia tells him carefully.

 

“Yes, okay. I can do that.”

 

“And if you get stuck, just tell yourself this: ‘The sooner I finish this story, the sooner I can get to banging Boyd,’” Erica suggest, wiggling her eyebrows.

 

Stiles flushes and looks at Lydia, who is desperately trying to not laugh.

 

“Okay!” he yells and he sprints from the room. Lydia laughs so hard that she has to lean on Erica for support.

 

 


	8. Deadlines and Dates

     8. Deadlines are important. They are vital to you, your editor, and the story you’re writing. Don’t try to guess when the deadline for a story is going to be: they vary. You could have a deadline of two weeks or a  deadline of two hours. Doesn’t matter. Just make sure you meet it.

 

 

Boyd is sitting outside of his favorite coffee shop, drinking his second espresso (he didn’t get any sleep last night, okay? It’s hard to sleep when a certain journalist’s eyes keep making their way into your dreams), when some familiar figures come rushing up to him.

 

“Hey!” Erica said as she, Cora, and a third woman hurry over. “Boyd! Did you see it?”

 

“Hey guys. See what?” Boyd asks in confusion. The three women all look a little out of breath and excited; the redheaded woman gives him a smug smile and wiggles her eyebrows.

 

“Stiles’s article about you!” Cora says with a grin. “It’s _really_ good, Boyd. Really good.”

 

Boyd hopes the excitement he’s feeling isn’t showing plainly on his face as Erica puts a special edition of the “Beacon Hills Daily.”  The first thing he sees is a _very_ flattering picture of himself, right under the headline, “Boyd: The Story Behind the Art.” Boyd tries to ignore the flutter he gets in his stomach when he reads the words “Stiles Stilinski” in the byline.

 

The article seems very professional, but personal. It seems like Stiles put a lot of effort into Boyd’s story. It’s a little on the long side, so Boyd skims through it. He smiles at the quotations, remembering when he said them to Stiles. Remembering how he felt when he was talking to Stiles . . .

 

Memories of Stiles’s facial expressions play before Boyd’s eyes and he suppresses a smile. He tries to focus on the article in front of him, but all he can visualize is Stiles. Stiles smiling at him, Stiles rolling his eyes at him, Stiles biting his lip as he writes down a quotation from Boyd . . . just . . . _Stiles_.

 

Boyd blinks rapidly and lifts his head to face Erica and Cora again. “It is really good,” Boyd agrees softly. “Thanks for showing it to me.”

 

The three women grin victoriously. The redheaded one walks closer to Boyd and sticks her hand out to him.

 

“I’m Lydia, by the way,” she says. “I’m Stiles’s editor.”

 

“And my girlfriend!” Erica adds excitedly.

 

Lydia beams as she shakes Boyd’s hand some more. “ _And_ Erica’s girlfriend.”

 

Boyd laughs. “Oh, _you’re_ the Lydia Erica’s been bragging about to Cora and me.”

 

“Yep!” Erica chirps while Cora rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

 

“So, Boyd,” Cora suddenly says, slowly dawdling closer to him, “the article’s out now. Don’t you have something to do?”

 

Oh, _great_. Of course Cora remembered. Boyd had been _trying_ to make himself forget about the dumb promise.

 

Erica and Lydia look intrigued as they both fix their gazes on Boyd.

 

“What’s up?” Erica asks Boyd curiously. When Boyd does nothing but glare at her, she turns to Cora again. “What’s going on?”

 

“Boyd here told me that he would do something after the article was published. Isn’t that right, Boyd?”

 

“I hate you so much right now, Cora,” Boyd growls, suddenly feeling self-conscious and more than slightly embarrassed.

 

Erica and Lydia stare at Boyd again and he sighs. There’s no getting out of this apparently.

 

“I said that . . . that I would ask Stiles out after the article was published,” Boyd admits quietly, waiting for ridicule, laughter, or _some_ reaction from them.

 

To his surprise, Erica and Lydia both beam with excitement. Lydia’s eyebrows shoot all the way up and her eyes light up with eagerness.

 

“ _Really?”_ she asks.

 

“Yeah, really,” Boyd mumbles.

 

“Oh, don’t forget about the other thing you said to me, Boyd,” Cora continues, staring at Boyd too hard.

 

“You know, I was hopped up on energy drinks when we had this conversation. This just isn’t fair!”

 

“What’s the _other_ thing you said you’d do?”

 

“I said I would ask him out within two days of the article being published, okay?! Damn!” Boyd yells in frustration. To his dismay, all three women laugh. They aren’t laughing derisively, but still they’re _laughing_.

 

“Look, I don’t even know if Stiles would go out with me, okay?” Boyd says, trying to salvage what little dignity he has left.

 

The laughter abruptly stops and all three of them look at Boyd as if he were an idiot.

 

“Are you kidding me?!” Lydia asks with surprising exasperation. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

 

Boyd feels flustered and confused. He squirms in his seat and says, “Well, I figured that he was probably only interested in me as a source. A subject.”

 

“I wish he _had_ been! He wouldn’t have had a meltdown in my office three days ago,” Lydia tells Boyd, putting her hands on her hands. Lydia gives him a firm look and continues, “You need to ask him out _now_. This very instant.”

 

“Oh _no_. No, I can’t do that. Not right now, no!” Boyd stammers. His head is reeling and he feels like he might fall out of his chair. “I _cannot_ call him now!”

 

Lydia sighs and glances at Erica and then at Cora. Erica nods twice and looks at the ground for a moment.

 

“Okay,” Erica says with another sigh.

 

“Okay?” Boyd asks suspiciously, watching her closely.

 

“Yeah, okay,” Erica says softly. Then Lydia pulls out her phone, dials a number, and then hands it to Erica.

 

“Um, what are you doing?” Boyd asks nervously.

 

“Asking Stiles out for you,” Erica answers as she puts the phone to her ear.

_“Erica!_ ” Boyd yells in a panicked voice. Boyd jumps from his seat and goes to stand beside Erica.

 

“Calm down,” Erica stage whispers, “I’m not going to make you talk to him just yet!”

 

“That doesn’t make this okay!” Boyd looks over to Cora and Lydia, but he already knows that they’re on Erica’s side. “What if he says no? What do I do then?”

 

“Oh please,” they all say simultaneously, startling Boyd.

 

“Yeah, Stiles? Hey, it’s Erica. Guess what? Boyd wants to go out with you!” Erica says cheerfully and if Boyd wasn’t freaking the fuck out before, he definitely is now.

 

“Stiles, calm down! No, I’m not joking. Yes, I’m sure he wants to go out with you. Yes, I _heard_ him say it. No, I didn’t blackmail or trick Boyd into—look, Stiles! How about you call Boyd tonight and talk it over with him? Okay? You’d be talking to him right now if he weren’t so terrified!”

 

Boyd makes a noise that Cora giggles at. Boyd looks over to Lydia, who simply shrugs and smiles mischievously.

 

“Yes. _Yes_. Stiles, just call him, okay? And please don’t chicken out of calling him because it won’t make things better. You have two days to call him. Okay? Good. Boyd will be expecting your call. Bye!”

 

Erica hangs up and hands the phone back to her girlfriend. Boyd stares at them numbly.

 

“That . . . that just happened,” Boyd mumbles.

 

“Yep, it did,” Lydia says. “Stiles will probably call you tonight. He freaks out over deadlines.”

 

“Um . . . okay?” Boyd says dazedly because he really can’t believe that any of this is actually happening.

 

Erica grabs Lydia’s hand and beckons to Cora. “Have fun with Stiles! See ya!” she yells as they all walk away.

 

Moments later, all three women are gone, and Boyd left alone with the sense of surrealism, anticipation, and the need for an unhealthy comfort food.


	9. Just Checking

     9. Verification is key. You gotta check your facts. Don’t be afraid to ask a source to repeat something or do some more research once you leave an event. You have to make sure you have the right information. Otherwise, you’ll be screwed.

 

 

Okay, but what if Erica actually _had_ been kidding?

 

Stiles really wishes he could stop thinking that, because it seems like total nonsense. But this is the 13th time that the thought has crossed Stiles’s mind since Erica called him a couple of hours ago. It’s the reason Stiles didn’t immediately call Boyd after he got off of the phone with Erica (well that, plus the fact that he’d frozen up immediately after Erica hung up. He’d sat still for so long that Scott had asked if he should call a doctor.)

 

Stiles doesn’t think that this is a joke or that Erica was mistaken. But isn’t it always a possibility that she had been joking or was mistaken? Isn’t it entirely possible that Boyd has no intention of actually _dating_ him and maybe had just wants to talk about the article? Maybe Boyd wants him to come over so he could yell at him about how article sucks. Maybe Stiles has spelled a name wrong or gotten a date wrong. Maybe Boyd wants to personally tell Stiles to go away and never write again.

 

Or maybe Stiles is just stressing himself out for no reason and just needs to suck it up and call Boyd before it's too late.

 

So, taking a deep breath and telling his nerves to go the hell away, Stiles hastily dials Boyd’s number.

 

And immediately regrets that decision because now he can’t remember how to form words.

 

“Hey, Stiles?” Boyd answers tentatively. Stiles has never heard Boyd say something so carefully.

 

“Um, hi, yeah it’s me, hi,” Stiles stutters. Great, he sounds like he’s giving that first interview all over again.  “So, um, Erica called me earlier today?” Why was he making it sound like a question? Ugh, he’s making this awkward, Boyd is gonna feel really awkward now.

 

Sure enough, Boyd sounds very embarrassed as he answers hurriedly, “I’m _so_ sorry about that! Erica was just being evil and torturing me. You don’t . . . you don’t actually . . . have to go out with me or anything like that if you really want you,” Boyd finishes, his voice sounding a little sad.

 

The words Boyd says in combination with the tone of his voice scare Stiles back into his good senses.

 

“No, no that’s not it! I would _very much love_ to go out with you!” Stiles blurts hastily. Then he stops and realizes what he just said.

 

On the other end, Boyd is silent for a moment. Then he laughs happily.

 

“Really? You would?” Boyd asks with excited disbelief. “Because I didn’t you think you’d actually, you know, want to date me.”

 

“Dude, have you _seen_ you? I’m pretty sure everyone in _town_ wants to date you,” Stiles says and for once he doesn’t feel weird about blurting something out to Boyd.

 

Boyd laughs and Stiles’s stomach does that weird tap dance that he usually hates. He loves it right now.

 

“So,” Boyd says slyly, “since we are going out, I think I have an idea. If that’s okay with you, of course.”

 

“You literally _always_ have an idea, don’t you?” Stiles says, feeling slightly giddy and mostly in love.

 

“Pretty much,” Boyd answers. “But didn’t you mention that you actually liked art a lot?”

 

“Yeaaah?”

 

“And you like wine, don’t you?”

 

“Boyd, I don’t know what exactly you’re suggesting, but it already sounds awesome.”

~~~~~

Turns out that painting while drinking wine is one of the most awesome things ever.

 

Boyd always knows how to throw Stiles for a loop. His plan turned out to be a trip to San Francisco, complete with too much food, a seemingly mundane walk through the park that turned into a weird, people version of “I Spy,” and, finally, free wine and a painting class.

 

There’s also a lot of Boyd-touching. And giggling. But mostly Boyd-touching.

 

During the class, Stiles and Boyd sit like their attached at the hip; pressed up against each other’s side. Stiles will occasionally let his head flop onto Boyd’s shoulder and Boyd will wrap his free arm around Stiles’s shoulders and _squeeze_. At one paint, they decided to paint each other’s arms rather than canvas. Boyd bites the inside of his cheek to stop laughing while Stiles laughs so hard that he starts to cry.

 

Stiles feels like a kid. A goofy, happy kid. It’s a great time

 

Towards the end of their class, when Stiles is returning to the reality that dictates that he and Boyd aren’t the only two people in the room, Stiles realizes that he hasn’t gotten a full look at Boyd’s canvas.

 

“What’ve you been painting this entire time?” Stiles asks eagerly, craning around to get a peek.

 

“Hold on, I’m almost done,” Boyd says with smile. “Why don’t you tell me what _you’ve_ painted?”

 

“I just threw a bunch of colors on the canvas! I wanna see what you did!” Stiles says and he knows that he’s whining but he doesn’t care and Boyd finds it cute, so it’s fine.

 

Boyd smiles broadly and turns the canvas fully around.

 

It’s Stiles.

 

It’s a portrait of Stiles, done up in vibrant colors. Stiles has never seen himself look so good.

 

“You drew me?” Stiles asks, his voice suddenly soft and reverent.

 

“I kinda draw you a lot, actually,” Boyd confesses, his smile suddenly shy. “Is that weird?”

 

Stiles stares at the portrait and then at Boyd again. Then, with no preamble or hesitation, Stiles leans over and kisses Boyd dead on lips.

 

After a few seconds, Stiles pulls back and grins sheepishly. Boyd has a dazed, content look on his face.

 

“Oh, um, was that an okay thing to do?” Stiles asks.

 

Boyd chuckles and kisses Stiles slowly, sweetly. Then he pulls away and grins broadly. “It definitely was.”

 

“Okay,” Stiles says, lightheaded and wondering who in Heaven likes him enough to have sent Boyd his way, “just double-checking.”

 

Around them, the class ends. They realize that it’s over and look around dazedly. Then Boyd laughs again, grabs Stiles’s hand, and they walk out into the San Francisco night.


	10. Love

    10. Find something about this job that you love. Whether it’s photography, interviewing, writing or editing. Figure out what you’re good—what makes you smile—and run with it. It sounds corny, I know, but it’s true. It’s _so true_.

 

[epilogue]

 

“You guys are gross,” Lydia tells Stiles, wrinkling her nose up at him and Boyd.

 

The summer sun shines down on them as they lie in one of the grassy areas of the park. Erica has her head in Lydia’s lap while Boyd and Stiles have their legs and arms tangled up.

 

“Wait, _we’re_ gross? Do you realize how nauseating you guys are?” Stiles asks incredulously.

 

“Oh please, we’re nothing like you two. _We_ weren’t caught making out and feeling each other up at the gallery, were we?” Lydia says as she starts to play with Erica’s hair.

 

“Just because you two haven’t been caught making out in a public place doesn’t mean you guys _aren’t_ making out in a public place,” Boyd reasons, tangling his fingers with Stiles’s. Boyd leans over and kisses Stiles chastely.

 

“You know, Boyd _does_ have a point,” Erica says from Lydia’s lap, wiggling her eyebrows and grinning wolfishly at Lydia. “There was that one time that we—”

 

“La la _we don’t wanna hear it!_ ” Stiles yells loudly. Boyd and Erica crack up and Lydia makes a face at Stiles.

 

“Oh, but _we’re_ the gross ones,” Boyd says to Lydia, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

 

Lydia rolls her eyes and then leans down to kiss Erica. Erica whispers something to Lydia in Spanish and Lydia laughs so hard that she’s on the ground.

 

“Fucking bilinguals,” Stiles grumbles childishly.

 

Boyd snorts at him and tugs Stiles’s hand until they’re lying flat on their backs as well.

 

“You know, I kinda love your childishness,” Boyd says, closing his eyes and smiling.

 

Stiles shoots his boyfriend a look and sticks his tongue out.

 

“Yeah, well, I kinda love your stubbornness,” Stiles retorts with fake malice.

 

“I kinda love _your_ stubbornness.”

 

“I kinda love your workaholic-ness.”

 

“I kinda love that you never give up,” Boyd responds, opening his eyes and looking over to Stiles.

 

“I kinda love that you’re always thinking,” Stiles tells him honestly, smiling.

 

“I kinda love that you’re ridiculous and goofy.”

 

“I kinda love that you’re smooth and all that stuff.”

 

Boyd laughs softly and squeezes Stiles’s hand. “I kinda love _you_.”

 

Stiles smiles in amazement and kisses Boyd, hard.

 

“I kinda love you, too.”

 

The couples lie there in silence, watching the sky and the ones they love.

 

“Oh, by the way, Stilinski,” Lydia says suddenly, turning her head to smirk at them, “I think Erica and I have another assignment for you.”

 

Stiles turns his eyes away from Boyd’s and smirks at his editor.

 

“Bring it on, Martin.”

 

 

 

 


End file.
